


don't bury me with gold

by Yuki1014o



Series: World Noble Sabo AU [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: AU exploration, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Gen, Rayleigh raises Ace, Reverie Arc Spoilers, Sabo has a not-fun time, Sabo-centric, Slave Monkey D. Luffy, Tenryuubito!Sabo, World Noble Sabo, Worldbuilding, conflicted feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25577467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o
Summary: Sabo’s whole world begins fraying at the seams when he’s five.///Sabo really, really doesn't like his life, with great power comes great responsibility, and freedom is always (always) a few steps away.
Relationships: Monkey D. Dragon & Sabo, Monkey D. Luffy & Portgas D. Ace & Sabo, Monkey D. Luffy & Sabo, Portgas D. Ace & Sabo
Series: World Noble Sabo AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869550
Comments: 88
Kudos: 332





	1. Recognize

Sabo’s whole world begins fraying at the seams when he’s five.

The Donquixote family has the best books. They have plenty of encyclopedias, history books, and law books, like everywhere else, but they’ve also have _adventure_ books. Those are Sabo’s favorite. Those are the ones no one tells him to read.

See, Sabo’s smart. Sabo started reading when he was only three, and he _understands_ things. He’s special. Of course he is! He’s a World Noble, after all. A Celestial Dragon. That makes him special, that makes him _better_.

(Doesn’t it?)

But more than that, Sabo’s smart. Being smart is what got him selected for special education. Being smart is what made the Gorosei pay attention to him. Being smart is what got him picked as a potential Gorosei candidate.

So Sabo is smart, and he understands things. He knows he does, not just because he’s told so, but because he _does_. He gets how the wind works and knows where the money comes from, he can read and write.

There’s a book in his hands, and his fingers are trembling, the pages are old but not dusty, and the main character is no World Noble. She’s a farmer’s daughter. She’s poor. Grace doesn’t sit on her shoulders, elegance doesn't follow her movements. She can’t write and she can hardly read, and her ancestors haven't saved the world. She’s—

 _Oh_ , Sabo thinks, blood rushing through his ears, _she’s just like me_.

She’s curious and likes having fun, loves the wind and the rain and the feeling of freedom. And Sabo looks at the page, eyes kind of blurry, and _thinks_.

Sabo’s smart, he understands things, he gets how the wind works and where the money comes from, and he _knows_ , deep down to his bone, like cockroaches beneath his skin, that something isn’t right.

-

“You don’t use slaves for transportation,” the elder says, not accusing, not really, but Sabo flinches anyway.

“It’s faster on my own,” he says, and he hates that it isn’t a lie. If not the full truth.

“Hmm.”

-

“Hey,” Sabo says, pausing his pen and looking up from his essay on the Cipher Pol system. He’s had this question crawling on the edge of his mind for two whole years, and he’s never spoken it before, thought it’d go away on it’s own, but— “Are we actually better than the common people?”

One of the elders looks at him, head tilting. “Sabo,” he says, “it’s us that have maintained order for centuries, it’s us that maintain the balance, and us who will continue to do so. We are more valuable than—”

“—No,” Sabo interrupts, shaking his head, making a kind of wild motion with his arms, “no, that’s not what I mean! _I_ haven't maintained order, neither have most of us World Nobles! It’s only you! The Gorosei! The rest—well, they don’t really do _anything_ do they?”

“Sabo,” another elder star says, “World Nobles play and important part in maintaining the world’s balance, you know this. The World Government’s very foundations are built on them.”

“ _No_ ,” Sabo says, rising frustration. They aren’t _getting_ it. “Of course I know that! But—but what makes us so special? If they were anyone else in the same role they’d be just as important right? What am I _missing_ —”

Because he must be missing something. He _must_ be.

The Gorosei are silent for a long, long moment. It’s a silence that drags, that makes the very air burn in Sabo’s lungs. He can feel insects crawling beneath his skin, the soft silky robes itching, the air too thick, too thin, and he can’t breath quite right, or see quite right. And—

“Nothing,” an elder says, “there’s nothing that separates us from them intrinsically. We are us and they are them. That is all.”

Sabo can’t have heard that right. He isn’t missing something?

That can’t be right.

“What am I missing?” He asks, again.

The Gorosei share a series of long looks.

“Sabo,” they say, “let us give you another question. In this world, where all people are fundamentally the same, why should we maintain this system? Once you answer this, you will understand. Once you answer this, you will truly be one of us five in mind.”

 _There’s something not right about this_ , he thinks, feels it in his flesh, _something is wrong in this_.

“Yeah,” he says, “sure.”

-

It takes him a year to find the answer.

Sabo doesn’t know what’s happening—or, maybe he does. there’s a buzzing in his ears to accompany the screams and the fire. His whole world is burning, cracking apart, luxurious fabrics bursting into flames, slaves running all over the place, chains clinking and clanking.

Sabo isn’t stupid, he knows what’s happening. Someone has attacked Mary Geoise. They’re freeing slaves. (They aren’t wrong. They aren’t worse. This is justified, isn’t it? Is it?) He’s terrified—have any World Nobles died? Will _he_ be killed? He’s trembling, there’s a pit in his stomach, he’s torn the fabric of his robes to run faster. He doesn't know where he’s going.

He pauses. Feet stilling.

What is he _doing?_

Sabo kicks off his shoes, makes a beeline for the closest staircase. Flames cackle, the marble is a little warm. Does Adam Wood burn? His feet smack against the floor, hurting already. The characters from his books would call him pathetic. They might be right.

He pushes open the balcony door, and—yeah. There’s a fishman (violent, worse, savage, _equal?_ ) in the streets, swinging blades with blood on his skin, and he’s smashing slave chains. Even at this distance, he looks angry, whole face contorted into something terrible, something tragic. Even at this distance Sabo can see he slaves looking at him like he’s a miracle, a messiah, a bringer of freedom, someone to be revered. Sabo can see the tears and the smiles, can hear the yells and the heartbreak, and hope is so thick in the air that he could choke on it.

Oh.

And Sabo feels, down to his bones, with every bit of his being, that this is _right_. Right like nothing else. Right like nothing else ever has been. There’s no question in this. These people deserve freedom, and Sabo aches _deeply_ to run away with them.

(Freedom. _Freedom_. Freedom like nothing else, he _wants_ it.)

But Sabo isn’t stupid. Sabo can’t leave with them, but he can help them leave, and that’s what he will do.

There’s a key on his belt, a key that’ll fit to each and every slave’s chains, and he’ll give that, he’ll open doors. he’ll go beneath the city and say _go up! Go up, go away! Go free! There’s a man here to help you._

He needs to do it fast. He knows how this has to work: in, and out, with a flash, before the admirals can all rein down.

Sabo doesn't scramble down the stairs so much as fall down the railing. It still takes minutes to reach the underground. He hasn’t been underneath the city before. It’s molted shades of gray and smears of brown. It smells like cleaning products and something acidic, something rotten.

His lungs are burning by the time he’s reached the locked slave quarters. He pauses. He can barely breathe, pulse too loud in his ears. Feet aching. He looks at the keyhole. Hesitates.

A moment. A distant crash.

Sabo slams a key into the lock, turns. Feels the metal give, the lock click out of place, and the door swings open. The room is crammed full of wide-eyed slaves, they’re all smiling wide in a way that almost hurts to look at.

“Th—” he breathes in, breathes out, he can do this, “there’s a slave break. Up there. You can probably hear it. You all need to leave quick, uh...” He holds out the key. Pauses, not quite sure what to do.

There’s dead silence, a cove of frozen faces and trembling hands.

A beat.

Then—then someone steps forward.

She’s his age, probably. Thin, with ratty ginger hair and wide amber eyes. There’s a smile plastered across her face, and she isn’t crying but she looks like she wants to. She holds out one, shaky hand, and doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

That’s okay. Sabo drops the key in her hands and she bolts in an instant, another moment, and the rests of them follow her. No one touches him.

Breathe in, breathe out. Sabo collapses against the wall. Curls his knees up to his chest, and stays there. Thinks.

Tomorrow, this will be called a tragedy. It feels like a miracle. It will be called a tragedy because the system must be maintained. All people are made equal. There is no relevant difference between him and them.

So why—

(Who benefits? The World Nobles. The Gorosei. The people atop the system.)

_In this world, where all people are fundamentally the same, why should we maintain this system?_

Oh.

There’s a reason. There always is.

-

“I found the answer,” Sabo tells them, a few months after Fisher Tiger’s slave break, when Sabo finally feels like he can say it without cracking. When he can speak like the words don’t make him want to burn the whole place down to the ground. 

“Oh?” an elder says.

“Uh-huh,” Sabo nods, placing down his book on geopolitics.

“Tell us, then.”

“Well,” he says, and breathes deep, like the very air isn’t rotten, “it’s because we’re at the top of the system, isn’t it? Maintaining the system means maintaining our luxury. People are people, and people are tools. That’s it, right?”

The Gorosei smile at him, kind of, as close to a smile as they ever get. “That’s it.”

Oh.

It’s all Sabo can do not to tear the pages of his book. Angry. He’s angry. He _hates_ this. He hates _all_ of this. There’s lava in his veins, and cockroaches beneath his skin, and—

“So,” one says, “Sabo, what do you think _gives_ us this right?”

 _Nothing_ , he wants to say, wants to scream till his throat bleeds, _you don’t have the right!_ But it comes out as: “Each person has the right to do anything for themselves. Not just for their life, but for their comfort. The system is terrible for the people at the bottom, but it’s good for us, so it’s okay.”

They nod. 

“You’ll make a brilliant Gorosei member, Sabo.”

He doesn’t want to be one.

“Thanks,” he says. Pauses. Closes his eyes, opens them. Takes a breath. He can’t _stand_ to be here. “Can I visit Sabaody?”

An elder blinks. “That’s rather sudden. You are interested in buying from the slave auctions?”

Sabo shakes his head, maybe a bit to fast. “No...no, I mean going as a civilian.”

He raises a brow. “A civilian.”

“Yeah,” Sabo says, runs his tongue over his teeth, doesn’t scratch the skin of his palms. “Better to know the population I’m to be controlling, yeah? There’s only so much that can be learned through books and pictures. It’ll be a different, valuable, experience to see it myself. But I can’t get any kind of accurate measure from going down as a World Noble.”

The elder hums, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “That’s true.”

“But Sabo,” another says, “Sabaody is a dangerous place.”

“A CP member can stay in whichever grove I’m in. I would appreciate privacy, but they can jump in if I call for them.”

“Hmm,” another says, giving Sabo a long look. “Alright. But only when you’re ten, and only with baseline combat training.”

Sabo grins. “Of course!”

(Half a year. Only half a year. He’ll be out, however temporary, in half a year. He can wait that long. He can.)

-

Sabaody Archipelago. Above stretches a vast canopy, some parts so dark it’s deep as night, and others bright where golden light filters gently through the leaves. Below, the ground stretches with vibrant shades of emerald green moss and sea-glass blue roots. In some places the ground falls away into murky green water, full to the brim with all manner of archipelago-dwelling fish.

Sabaody is—

The air tastes like gunpowder, like blood, like ocean and leaves. Everything smells vaguely like soap. There’s the constant echoing, musical, almost ethereal, _pop-pop-pop_ of resin bubbles.

Sabaody is—

Some places are deserted, he can sit there and hear the ocean crashing and the leaves rustling and only just barely make out sounds of civilization in the distance. Other places are crowded. Only some people are smiling—many are yelling, scowling, picking fights. But the people who are smiling look…happy. Actually happy.

Sabaody is—

Sabo breathes deep, in, and out. His clothes are itchy, scratching, too stiff in places. They don’t feel disgusting on his skin. He can move in them.

Sabaody is a taste of freedom.

It’s addicting, exhilarating, thrilling, the best thing in all of Sabo’s ten years.

The people of Sabaody don’t ask questions, don’t inquire on why a small child is going around. He buys treats (they taste like trash. Sabo doesn’t care in the slightest.) he sits at the shipping area. Just watches. Goes around a bit more—not really looking for anything, just—looking. At everyone.

Jumping root-to-root over gaping chasms that drop into the oceans is _fun_. It’s thrilling, it’s exciting, it’s wonderful—it’s no wonder that when Sabo checks his surroundings properly, he’s found himself in the lawless zones.

Huh.

That...Sabo glances around, a little closer. It’s one of the archipelago's darker areas, where the canopy is thicker, and light falls in patches. It’s a rather drastic change in atmosphere to the sea-glass pastels of sunnier areas.

And then—a gunshot.

Sabo whips his head around. This isn't the first time he’s heard one since he came down, but it’s the first time it’s been so close. Another shot, and someone yells, and someone yelps, and someone screams a yell that’s more animal than human, and more angry than scared.

It’s—right beside him, Sabo realizes. Whatever is happening is just on the other side of the trunk. He pauses, hesitates, bites his lip. But he wants to know, and he only has one day down here, and he won’t waste it _hesitating_. So.

He creeps around the trunk, crawling into the thick of the roots, and peering at the situation.

There’s a gang of grown men, fighting a kid with scraggly black hair and freckles spread on his skin. There’s blood on the moss, and a host of still bodies, and the kid’s fighting with a brutality Sabo’s never seen before. He has his teeth bared, and a pipe clenched tight in his fist, and his skin is a tapestry of bruises and scrapes.

And he’s not losing, not exactly, but—

But Sabo knows slavers when he sees them. Not only does he know slavers, he’s educated himself on slave rings, and knows that these men aren’t just common thugs. they’re trained for this. And—oh. There’s a crack, and someone hits the muzzle of their gun against the kid’s skull.

That can’t be good.

That can’t be good at _all_.

And Sabo, he—he. What should he do? Help, obviously, right? That’s be right. Because slavery is wrong, he knows this down to his bones, and the boy’s just his age and—well. Well. There isn’t much else Sabo can do, if he thinks about it like that, is there? Yeah. Not the time for hesitation!

Sabo has a knife on his belt, nothing flashy, because he’s incognito. But it’s certainly _sharp_ , and that’s what really matters. He has to be smart about this. Not just jump in like an idiot. Has to wait for an opening and— _there!_

He dashes out, trips the man and knocks him, perhaps not easily, into one of the ditches between tree roots. The man falls into the water with a giant splash and a muffled scream.

( _Careful of the archipelago water_ , the book had said, _it’s teeming with life! Snaring vines and carnivorous fish! Sabaody piranhas, they’re called. Without even mentioning the tangled fishing lines and barbed fish hooks! Do not mistake the archipelago's watery holes as shallow pools, they extend straight to the ocean floor!_ )

Sabo skids to a halt beside the kid on the ground, who looks like he’s recovering his wits. The boy snaps his head around to glare at Sabo, looks like he’s going to say something but—

The next guy comes, and this time Sabo slits the tendons on the dominant hand. The kid just hits them hard enough to knock them unconscious. Sabo kicks the bodies into the water.

It should probably be concerning, he realizes, vaguely, that he’s able to exercise such viciousness. That he isn’t all that perturbed about his first direct murder. But—

Well. There are too many slaves in the world to spare sympathy for slavers.

The other kid’s obviously better at fighting than him. He’s faster, and stronger, and his whole being is wild and untamed and Sabo _wants_. _Yearns_ for that kind of freedom.

The last guy goes down, and the boy wastes no time in pivoting around on to face Sabo. He’s glaring, breathing hard. “Hey asshole,” he says, barring his teeth, and Sabo doesn’t step back. “’Hell was that about!”

Sabo pauses a moment, isn’t quite sure how to respond. Not really. “Well...” he says, slowly, careful to bleed any hint of noble accent form his voice, “I was helping you.”

“I didn’t need help!”

Oh, that’s a little annoying.

Sabo frowns, just a bit. “Really?” He says, only a touch sarcastic. “I couldn’t tell.”

The boy goes red, either in anger or embarrassment, Sabo isn’t sure. Maybe both. “Fuck off!”

“No,” he says, “I don’t think I will.”

The kid launches forward, fists first. Sabo lurches to the side, almost stumbling over his feet, but not quite. The boy aims a kick at his ankles and Sabo skids down and around and grips him by the hair. The kid yelps, claws at his hand hand enough for the nails to draw blood.

Sabo’s never bled before. It hurts, he hates it, he barely notices it, it’s part of the fun. Or—perhaps fun isn’t the right word, but it also isn’t _not_ the right one, because Sabo’s heart is beating out of his chest, and his blood is warming his whole body into a burn, and he thinks he’s grinning. The other kid—Sabo stumbles, scrapes his knees, and makes a grab for the boy’s shirt—the other kid isn’t trying to kill him, not in the way he was the slavers.

There are no knives in this, no snapping necks, and no murderous intent.

Sabo bites down on the kids arm, and in return gets a kick in the stomach. Sabo reels back, trips over a root, and the ground is slanted, and giving beneath his feet and—oh.

 _Oh_.

Now, logically, Sabo knows that the instant he hits the water there will be a Cipher Pol member there to swoop him up and out with no damage. The agent has been instructed to remain hidden in the canopy unless signaled down specifically by him—but that doesn’t apply if Sabo’s life is truly, undoubtedly, in danger.

Sabo knows this. But it’s still terrifying when the moss breaks and he feet lose their hold and he starts to fall. There’s the ocean below him and blood in his ears and—

—and someone clutches hard onto the collar of his shirt and _yanks_.

“What the _hell_ ,” the kid hisses, glaring, and roughly pulling Sabo far, far away from the water. “Are you an _idiot?_ ”

“Hey!” Sabo says, but he’s pretty sure there’s a stupid grin on his face. “What an insult. I’ll forgive you this time, because you also saved me, though!”

“I did _not_ ,” the kid says.

“Didn’t kick me?”

“NO! No—no, didn’t _help_ you, idiot!”

“Hmm,” Sabo says, “really.”

“Yeah!”

“May I at least know the name of my not-savior?”

Cause referring to the kid as ‘the kid’ is kinda getting weird.

He glares at Sabo, barres his teeth but says, “Ace, asshole.”

Sabo beams. “Good to meet you, then!”

A pause.

“So,” Ace says, scowling and looking something between awkward and angry, “what about you then?”

Sabo hesitates. Because, well, saying his name isn’t actually something he should do. Celestial Dragon names are public record. Sure, he’s just one name, and it’s not like there’s really a public picture of him, and it’s not like he’s ever visited the land below before this. But—still. It’d be a pretty terrible idea to say.

But—

“Promise you’ll keep it a secret,” he finds himself saying, a bit short on breath, “I won’t tell you why. But promise. Don’t even mention my name.”

Ace gives him a really strange look. There’s a moment of silence. A bubble pops somewhere close.

“Sure,” Ace says. “Whatever.”

“You promise?” Sabo presses, just for sure.

Ace shifts, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “Yeah. Promise.”

He grins, “Then call me Sabo!”

(Later, they go to Ace’s home. Shakky’s Rip-Off bar. Sabo meets a former pirate and drinks the worst alcohol he’s ever had, and it’s the best day of his life. Later, he looks at the clock, and sees the time, and knows he must return, and his whole heart sinks.)

-

He has, Sabo realizes, been selfish.

See, Sabo generally tries to avoid anything that makes him so uncomfortable it’s almost nauseating. He stays in his room all day with his head in a book, and he doesn’t own slaves, and he doesn’t look at slaves. He doesn't read biographies of the unfortunate unless he needs to, and even when visiting Sabaody once a week he tries to avoid he worst areas.

He effectively sticks his head in the sand and tries to pretend the world’s issues don’t make him itch to the bone.

Sabo is outside, was heading to Pangaea, but there’s a slave being beaten on the road. And he looks Sabo’s age, with short black hair, a crescent scar beneath his eye, thin scrawny arms and—a devil fruit, probably. Logia? Paramecia? It’s probably the only reason he isn’t dead yet.

He can stop this, Sabo realizes. He has a duty to stop this. Sabo can't do much, can’t change the system, not yet, (can he ever? Would it be possible?) but he can help here. Instead of looking away he can _help_ , just a tiny bit.

Sabo’s been selfish. He could’ve been helping, he hasn’t been. He needs to be.

“Hey,” he says, shoes clicking on pale white stone, and the other World Noble leans to face him—a movement that looks awkward from her perch on the back of her slave.

She gives him a look, somewhere between distaste and annoyance. “What?”

Sabo doesn't grimace, keeps the smile on his face. He’s learned a thing or two about hiding his discomfort. Sabo points at the boy, who’s bloody and not-quite crying, but looking close to it, and that will get him killed. “I want that one,” Sabo says, voice confident, stomach rolling.

“What!?” She yells, voice shrill. “But it’s mine!”

Sabo pauses a moment, purses his lips, and _glares_. The World Noble recoils. “Fine! Fine, fine you can have him! S-stop doing that _thing!_ ”

That was..surprisingly easy, actually. It makes sense, though. For World Nobles...there simply _isn’t_ anyone who would make threats, so no matter how hollow, Sabo’s glare is intimidating enough to scare. Huh.

(He could do this more often, he realizes. Take slaves as his own and at least give the a safe space in his castle. Even if he couldn’t really just, let them go without drawing too much suspicion. Stage a slave break, then? Maybe—he isn’t sure how he’d do that. It’s a thought for another time.)

Sabo gestures to a guard. they’re over in an instant. “Take the slave to my castle.”

The guard nods, Sabo continues on his way to Pangaea, and the world keeps running.

-

When Sabo gets back the boy is in the front hall. He’s looking around, limbs stretching every which way, and when he notices Sabo he immediately freezes in place.

“Hey,” Sabo says, and forces a smile. “I’m Sabo, what’s your name?”

The boy stays silent.

He’s a newly arrived slave, from the records Sabo dug up. But you learn quick on Mary Geoise.

“Hey,” he says, more quiet, “I won’t do anything. You can speak. I promise.”

The boy shifts a little, looks at the floor, at the walls, at Sabo’s collar. Doesn't quite meet his eyes. Opens his mouth, closes it.

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. _Hates_. Hates the system that made the boy like this, hates the world, hates that he doesn't know how to change it.

-

The boy eats—a lot, when he’s actually allowed to. Sabo wonders if he’d been starving

(Of course he had.)

The boy does get better. The bruises fade, the cuts heal over, the bones become less prominent. He still doesn't speak.

Sabo works and worries, works and worries.

-

“Hey,” Sabo tries again, thinks of what common people do to prove they mean something. “I won’t do anything bad—pinky promise?” And slips the glove off his hand and offer a pinky.

The boy brightens, just a little, sticks out his own hand, and seals the deal. The texture of his skin is—strange; stretchy and clinging, malleable but firm. “I’m Luffy,” he says, and Sabo _beams_.

“Nice to meet you, Luffy,” Sabo says, heart dancing right out of his chest, and Luffy smiles right back.

“Uhhuh,” he says, “you’re way nicer than everyone else.”

Sabo’s smile twitches, just a little. “I try to be,” he says, “do you want food? We’ll go to the kitchen.”

Luffy brightens even more.

So they eat—and Luffy eats a _lot_ , and from there Luffy opens up—well. Not _easily_ , but close to. He’s from East Blue, from an island he doesn't remember the name of, but a town called Foosha. And he talks about shells and pirates and window-breaking storms. Of jungles and tigers and Sabo _imagines_.

It sounds wonderful, a small little town with nice people—and, huh. That’s a little strange, isn’t it. That Luffy was taken as a slave from a place like that.

“By the way,” Sabo says, maybe a little hesitant, “how did you...get caught?”

“Oh,” Luffy says, and his whole face falls. “Well—well Gramps gave me to the stupid bandits, but I didn’t like them at all! So I left to this big trash heap—well, like, trash land—and there were pirates there but not the nice kind..and...”

“It’s okay,” Sabo assures, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“Okay!” Luffy says, and there’s a grin right back on his face. “But besides that the trash heap was really cool!”

(And it’s the strangest thing, really, because the trash heap actually does sound cool. And so does the jungle. And so do the pirates. And Sabo misses Sabaody like a cut-off limb, always does when he’s atop the Red Line, but the sharp ache turns to a muted pain with company he doesn't hate.)

-

“Hey Sabo,” Ace says, one day, when they’re safely tucked into the corner of Shakky’s bar—(run by Shakky, protected by Rayleigh, it’s maybe the only place on the whole archipelago Sabo can we with neither watchers nor listeners. CP-0 is loyal to a fault, and he doesn't _think_ they will listen in when their orders are against such—but, well. There are orders higher than his.)

Sabo hums, begins pouring himself another glass of orange juice, doesn’t look Ace’s way. “Yeah?”

“Hey Sabo,” Ace says, and pokes his side.

Sabo snickers, grins, and begins sipping his orange juice. “Yeah?”

“Hey Sabo,” Ace says again, more annoyed now.

“Uhhuh.”

“Sabo!” Ace says, and this time snatches the orange juice right out of Sabo’s hands and drinks it himself. (And oh, isn’t _that_ a doozy. Sabo will never quite get used to it. Being treated as an equal, an equal! A friend! A person!)

“Hey!” Sabo protests, more of obligation than anything else, and grins. “What was that for?”

Ace scowls at him. “ _Sabo_ ,” he says, more firm, and now that Sabo’s actually looking at him, he’s looks kind of nervous. Frame all tense and defensive and—oh. Huh. This might be actually serious.

“Yeah?” Sabo asks, looking at him this time. Shifts a little.

“Well,” Ace says, and glances at the door, at the stairs, at anything but Sabo. “Well.”

A beat.

“Well,” Ace says, again.

Sabo blinks. “Well,” he agrees.

Ace flushes, ears going red, “Shut up,” he mutters.

“Then get on with it,” Sabo responds, sticking out his tongue.  
Ace clicks his tongue, shifts, puts the glass cup back down onto the bar’s counter. Behind the counter Shakky sharpens a knife. The bar is empty bar the three of them; silent except Sabo’s breathing and Ace’s foot-tapping and Shakky’s sharpening.

“Well,” Ace says, after a long moment, “what would you think if Gold Roger had a son?”

Sabo blinks. Thinks. Tries not to let his mind whirl with speculation and theory (Black hair, raised by Rayleigh, angry, age only a little off—) Thinks of propaganda, of what _he_ knows of the Pirate King. Of false-articles and fear-mongering stories and slaughter of woman and babies, and _Sabo, this is how you run a propaganda campaign. Learn._

“I guess I’d hope he wasn’t killed,” Sabo says, and Ace’s whole expression twists.

“Okay,” Ace says, and his voice is maybe a little ragged, a little hopeful, “So you wouldn’t hate him, or think he was evil, or give him to the marines, or—”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Ace says, and goes deathly quiet. Behind the bar, Shakky sharpens her knife. Metal on metal. “Then what would you think if I said he was my dad?”

 _Oh_ , Sabo thinks, _so we’re really doing this, this is really happening_. Okay.

“I’d think that’s fine,” he says. Hops off his bar stool and looks Ace right in the eye. “Children shouldn’t be held to the sins of their father, yeah? And,” he leans closer, lowers his tone, just a bit, “y’know, just between you and me, I don’t think Gold Roger was that bad—most of it is propaganda.” He pauses, just a moment. “And even if it were all true, I’d still like _you_ just fine, so. Well. If _I_ had monsters in human skin for parents then _you_ wouldn't hate me, would you?”

Sabo tries not to let the last part sound to much like a question.

Ace’s whole face screws up, and his eyes are maybe a little wet and there's an expression on his face like he’s trying not to grin, or trying not to cry, and it comes out as an awkward kind of frown. “Of course not! Idiot!”

Sabo grins. Doesn't let his relief show. “Yeah,” he says, “see? 'Nothing to cry about.”

“I’m not crying!”

“Sure you’re not.”

Ace wipes at his eyes, at his cheeks. Scowls.

It must’ve been hard, Sabo thinks, to grow up knowing nothing they say is true, and knowing they’re wrong, and knowing there was nothing he could really do about it. Being hated for something false, something fabricated. Because in the end Ace is just a boy, and it’s the whole world that’s wrong.

“I’m not,” Ace says, again.

Sabo hums, pauses, thinks, smiles, “Yeah well, I care about you, a lot. And everyone is stupid.”

Ace bursts into tears. Sabo laughs. Ace tackles him right to the floor and shoves his elbow right in Sabo’s mouth. It’s disgusting. Sabo keeps on laughing.

(How angry must Ace be, Sabo wonders, to live a victim of a system he has no probable hope of changing, a system that would’ve killed him at birth. How much rage has festered in that open wound?

Sabo lives near the top of that system, for all that it’s failed him, and he knows he might just have a slight chance one day of changing _something_. And still he feels this burn beneath his skin, this festering of anger and buildup of despair.

How angry must the world become before it _changes?_ )

-

“I’m bringing my slave down with me to Sabaody,” Sabo says, and very carefully doesn’t grimace when he reduces Luffy (bright, cheery, an individual, Sabo’s only company up on the Red Line,) to a _slave_.

“Oh?” One of the Gorosei says, “It will be harder to prevent him from escaping.”

Sabo laughs, just a bit. “I’m not stupid.” And then, “It wouldn’t be a terrible loss besides.”

(Someday, he thinks, it will happen. Someday, when Sabo is more established, more trusted, and there are to many other issues to pay any mind to a slave’s disappearance, someday, Luffy will be free.)

-

“Hey!” Sabo says, grinning brightly when he swings open the door of Shakky’s bar.

Shakky glances up, looks back to the money she’s counting, “Welcome back.”

Rayleigh tilts his head and gins, pauses a moment when he sees Luffy, and doesn’t say anything at all.

“I’m back,” Sabo responds, and it’s that moment that Ace comes tumbling—almost falling—down the stairs.

“Sabo!” He yells, grinning, and then his eyes land on Luffy and his whole expression twists. “Who’s that?”

“He’s Luffy,” Sabo answers, and that doesn’t really answer anything at all, does it? He pauses, just a moment, purses his lips. There’s an—understanding, almost, sort of, between them. Sabo doesn’t say where he goes or what he does or who he is and Ace doesn’t ask, not really, not after the first time. “He’s my only friend back...” and he almost says home, but it sits like acid on his tongue and heavy on his lips, and he doesn't have to lie, not here. “Back where I go,” he says, vaguely.

A beat.

“Okay,” Ace eventually says, still eyeing Luffy kind of warily.

Luffy just beams. “Hi!” He says, “I’m Luffy!”

From the bar, Rayleigh sighs. It isn’t a heavy sound. “Welcome, then.”

(As it turns out, Luffy and Ace get along marvelously. Sure, Ace is a little harsh, a little abrasive, but he's like that with everyone and Luffy doesn't seem to mind. Luffy doesn't seem to mind at all.

Luffy is much to preoccupied with having fun and being free, if only for a moment.)

There’s a big smile on Luffy face, and he’s brighter than the midday sun, and he’s the happiest Sabo’s ever seen him, and—Luffy doesn’t belong atop the Red Line. He’s an extrovert, and loves being free more than anything, and he’s Sabo’s only friend in Mary Geoise. (But in the end that doesn't really matter, does it.)

“Hey,” Sabo says, taking Luffy and Ace’s attention. They blink at him. “I’m gonna go back to the bar for a bit. Stay safe, yeah?”

“Oh,” Ace says, and he’s frowning, “okay.”

“That’s stupid,” Luffy says, and doesn’t elaborate, but he’s looking at Sabo with an uncharacteristically serious expression. And it occurs to Sabo, now, that Luffy’s really much smarter than many give him credit for. Not smart with books, but smart with people. It’s kind of terrifying.

Sabo laughs. “I’ll be back soon.”

When he gets back to the Rip-Off Bar there’s a party of hooded figures tucked comfortably into the bar’s corner. They wear long black cloaks, and speak firm but not loud. Like a whisper made of steel.

Sabo sits at the bar and listens.

And listens.

And listens.

They’re revolutionaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Finally getting this posted! Been working on it for what seems like forever. as you can probably tell from this, I LOVE noble Sabo aus, and this was kind of “how do I make noble Sabo even better?” and the answer was immediately WORLD noble Sabo. So. Honestly, most of the other things in this au were just branches of that idea. “I want ASL to still exist” thus Rayleigh raises Ace and Luffy becomes a slave.
> 
> Anyhow! If you enjoyed, please don't hesitate to leave a comment! As always, constructive criticism is welcome and I love feedback. So. Don't be shy! :)


	2. Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revolutionaries, Conqueror's Haki, and Shakky and Rayleigh being great parents for their adopted World Noble.

The revolutionaries appear to have deemed Shakky's bar a safe haven. Sometimes they're already there when Sabo comes down, sometimes they only arrive halfway through and Sabo drops everything to listen in, sometimes they come during the tail-end of Sabo's visit and he stays just a bit longer.

Like this, Sabo listens, and learns.

There's a startling difference between listening to the Gorosei complaining about the group, between reading their ideology in book, and _listening_ to them. Every word is rough around the edges, brimming with passion, with grim determination, with the overwhelming realization that the world's something terrible, something rotten to its core. They know what he knows, they see like he does, and eventually Sabo starts to think like _they_ do.

Sabo never reports them, of course he doesn't, and the revolutionaries are subtle enough when they're outside the bar that Cipher Pol doesn't pick up on them.

And then, one day, Dragon comes.

Dragon speaks like nothing Sabo's ever heard. He has a charisma to him, and eloquence, but not so much that it's alienating. He doesn't dwell on details, he cuts right to the heart of issues. Dragon spins ideology like silk threads, captures minds in his web of dreams—and that's the thing, isn't it? These people _dream_ , these people _hope_. Dragon speaks like there's something to be done, like there's something that _can_ be done, and somewhere along the way, somewhere in the months of secret listening and quiet dreaming, Sabo's whole mind becomes ensnared.

Sabo never talks to them, never approaches. He doesn't know how. He wonders if he would, if he knew. He wonders if they'd hate him. Wonders if there's any way in the whole world he could erase his heritage. Shame curdles beneath Sabo's skin, hot and burning.

So Sabo doesn't approach them, doesn't speak, doesn't ask what he could do—except—except—

"We'll move our ships along the eastern edge of the Northern Front by night," Dragon says.

Sabo stiffens on his bar stool.

"Along what used to be Lyut's port?"

Sabo's grip on his cup tightens.

"Yes." A rustle of fabric, of paper. "It's the quickest route, and we need to be convert—Karasu's ambush on the capital won't work if there's any leaks."

And—oh. Oh. That's—

Sabo's been studying Revolutionary fronts. Been keeping track of them. Been trying to follow the stories, the orders, been reading reports, and—

"That won't work," Sabo find himself saying, before he can think better of it. Behind the bar counter Shakky lights up a cigarette and meets Sabo's eyes for just a moment before fixing them on the table of revolutionaries.

Sabo doesn't know if he should've said that. It's treason, he's nervous, he doesn't know if he can explain quite right, if he can explain without saying who he is. But that's useless to dwell on now, because he can hardly take the words back.

A beat.

"Oh?" Dragon says, tone vaguely curious, a little challenging, and Sabo turns around on his stool.

"That won't work," he repeats.

Dragon looks at him for a long moment. The other revolutionaries are looking at their leader a little confused, a little incredulous. That's fair. It must seem ridiculous to pay mind to the words of a child they know nothing of.

"Go on," Dragon says.

Sabo clenches his fist, presses his nails into his skin. Feels his heart drum in his chest, maybe a bit to fast, a bit to hard. He pushes down his discomfort, much as he can. And it's treason, and maybe he's a World Noble but he's also smart and informed and being groomed for the mantle of the Gorosei, and there's a fine line between asset and liability. Sabo—

"Lyut requested marine backup a month ago. A Rear Admiral will be there in just a few days. Rear Admiral Peach is experienced. Being considered for promotion. That section of the Northern Front's forces aren't really combat oriented, right? So an ambush would make sense if she wasn't there, but Peach has exceptional observation Haki, and—well." Sabo trails off. "Well. That's all... I suppose."

"I see," Dragon says, simply.

"Wait!" Another revolutionary says, shifting their head, and beneath the hood Sabo can see a bush of purple hair and long eyelashes on a masculine frame. (Miracle Maker Ivankov? Perhaps—probably.) "Dragon! You can't possibly be thinking of just taking the boy's word for it!"

"Of course not," Dragon says, leaning back, just a bit. Sabo's heart sinks. "At least not at face value."

Behind the bar, Shakky takes a long drag on her cigarette. There's a clink of cups, and she comes out with a tray of drinks. She places the tray down on their table. Takes another drag on her cigarette. Breathes out a breath of smoke.

A beat. Sabo shifts, a little uncomfortably.

Dragon glances at her, dips his head in acknowledgment. "Shakky."

"Dragon," she responds, slowly, almost lazily, "if he," she tilts her head towards Sabo, "decided to give you advice, I'd say take it."

(Sabo wonders how much she knows, how much she suspects. Wonders why she still advocates for him.)

There's a long moment.

"I see," Dragon says, again. "I'll keep that in mind."

-

"You were right," Dragon says, next time they're both in the bar. "We took your intel into account."

Sabo practically beams. "I'm glad."

"You've saved many thousand lives, maybe a whole kingdom."

And—oh. He has, hasn't he?

"I guess," Sabo says.

"Thank you," Dragon says. "Are you interested in a continued partnership?"

And—oh. _Oh._ Is he?

Sabo thinks of slaves, of rewritten history, of starving children and slaughtered mothers, of the fine line between asset and liability. And—

"Yeah," Sabo says. "I look forward to working with you!"

Dragon smiles, ever-so-slight. "Then welcome."

Sabo just smiles. He's done something, he's saved lives, he's helped the revolution, he's _done_ something.

(He's done something.)

(He can _do_ something.)

-

See, here's the thing: Sabo can do a lot of things. Non-World Government approved things. He _has_ been doing a lot of things. He's been providing information and saving lives and helping the revolution. And on the scale of it all, smuggling one small slave out and setting him free should be easy.

It isn't easy.

See, it's like this: for a while Sabo could tell himself that he wasn't yet trusted enough by the Gorosei, tell himself that he doesn't have anywhere to bring Luffy, anyway. Tell himself that the slave brand would mark Luffy a target and there's no way the boy could survive on his own.

But by now Luffy knows Shakky and knows Rayleigh, and Sabo knows that if he asked they would take him. Would shelter him and protect him, maybe even bring Luffy back to his own island themselves.

Sabo bites his tongue till it bleeds. Drums his fingers on the spine of his book. Looks out to he massive balcony, past the curtains, to the city of gold and marble. Looks back to the pages, the words are almost dizzying, almost nauseating, or maybe that's just him.

Luffy hates it here, he knows, probably more than Sabo himself. Luffy hates it here; loves freedom more than anything in the whole world. Luffy has only been a slave for a year—two? But he already doesn't remember his last name and—

Well. There's only one thing for Sabo to do, isn't there.

Give Luffy up. Sure maybe Mary Geoise will go from terrible to worse, maybe he'll lose his only company, maybe most days he won't speak anything but lies, or maybe won't speak anything at all, because there's no one to talk to—but there's a right and a wrong and Sabo has a choice.

There's a right, and there's a wrong, and Sabo has a choice.

Sabo is a World Noble. He has a choice, he has more than choice, he has _power_. In his hand sits a key chain of possibilities, he can say for an island to die and the island will die, he can call for clothes made of spider silk and he will get clothes made of spider silk; this is his privilege, this is his responsibility.

This is his responsibility.

A breath away letters spin in their places, a step away a gold clock glitters, a hall away a feast sits untouched; a building away someone is trying not to cry, an island away someone is dying, an ocean away someone is cursing his lineage.

Sabo will not be selfish.

-

It happens like this: one day after he makes his decision he gets the schedules of every Mary Geoise guard and every marine that is involved with monitoring traffic in and out of the Red Line. The day after that, he disguises himself as a guard to get to the base of the Red Line, then as a civilian cabin-boy to travel, and he goes to Sabaody all by himself.

The day after that, he does the same thing with Luffy accompanying him. (It's terribly easy for Luffy to follow those orders, for Luffy to be quiet, because for as much as Sabo doesn't want to think about it, Luffy is still a slave. Still felt the branding iron scalding on his back, still had to follow orders, still—)

 _Do not be selfish_ , this, Sabo thinks, will be his guiding principal.

So maybe it's hard, and maybe he hates it, but next time they're down the Red Line it's with no Cipher Pol tails.

Sabo breathes in, breathes out, pushes open the door to Shakky's bar. It is bright and florescent. From a bar stool Shakky shifts around and looks at them, faintly surprised, and smiles, just a bit.

"Luffy, Sabo," Shakky says, leaning back against the bar counter, "did I lose track of time? This doesn't seem like one of your usual days."

"It's not," Sabo says.

"Uh-huh!" Luffy beams, "We aren't supposed to be here at all!"

Shakky pauses a moment, looks relaxed as ever. "This isn't a normal visit, then."

Sabo grimaces, just a little, thins his lips. "No," he admits, "it's really not. I need a favor."

"A favor."

"Yeah."

She smiles, just a little bit. "Well then. What can I do for you?"

Sabo shifts. Feels Luffy's hand in his. He can't be selfish. "Can you also call Ace, and Rayleigh? If you can."

"Sure," she says. "ACE! YOUR FRIENDS ARE HERE!"

There's an immediate crash from above the ceiling. Shakky digs a baby den den mushi from her belt, rings a number, it picks up around the time ace crashes down the stairs.

"Sabo!" Ace exclaims, at about the same time that the den-den mushi says: "Shakky? You don't usually call me."

Shakky chuckles. "Hurry home, Ray, the boys have something to tell us."

The den-den mushi hangs up. Ace looks between Sabo and Shakky, Sabo and Shakky. Sabo doesn't meet Ace's eyes. (He's going to have to explain, going to have to _explain_ , going to have to say who Luffy is and who he himself is and—)

A few beats.

Shakky sighs. "You all might as well sit down," she says, unfolding form the stool and making her way around to the fridge. "I'll get you all orange juice."

"Orange juice?" Luffy asks, maybe a tad hopeful.

"And Sea King meat," Shakky says, winking, and Luffy lights up like the sun itself.

Ace huffs. Sabo doesn't say anything at all. It only takes a few minutes for Rayleigh to show.

"So?" Rayleigh asks, deceptively easy smile on his lips. "What's this all about?"

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. Shifts. Cockroaches beneath his skin, he's too hot, too cold, everything's too loud—too quiet. There's blood in his ears and his breath is abrasive. Closes his eyes, opens them. Smiles.

Well, might as well get this over with quick.

"I—can you guys help me fake Luffy's death and take him?"

"Sure," Shakky says, just like that.

Sabo blinks. Ace blinks. Luffy lights up like a beacon.

"What?" He asks.

Rayleigh laughs, loud and unashamed, and takes a drink from a bottle of something definitely alcoholic. "You heard the lady!"

"What," Ace says.

"Thanks!" Luffy says, loud and happy—probably the happiest Sabo's ever heard him. "Sabo's been worrying a lot 'bout it and I hate it there."

"No problem," Shakky says, and this is all going much to fast.

"Wait wait wait," Sabo says, shaking his head. "I mean—thank you, really, you don't know how much this—I mean I need to explain some things."

"Yeah!" Ace says, "Yes, yes you do. Sabo what the hell."

Sabo opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "Promise not to freak out?" Pauses a moment. "Especially you, Ace," because he really can't help himself.

Ace scowls. "'Course."

"Okay," Sabo says.

A beat.

"Say it!"

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. He knows what happened to the Donquixote family. He knows. But this—this isn't about him. This is about Luffy. He won't be selfish.

"Well I—I guess starting with this. You should know about Luffy's situation."

Shakky hums.

"You—Shakky, you and Rayleigh probably already had a guess but I should explain properly. Luffy, can you show them you're back? You don't have to."

Luffy pauses, hesitates, just a moment. Nods. Pulls up the back of his shirt, just enough to show the start of the Dragon's Hoof. Shakky and Rayleigh don't look extremely surprised but Ace looks horrified.

"Truthfully," Sabo says, and clenches his fist, "I probably could've done this sooner. But I've been making excuses the whole time and—"

"Sabo," Ace interrupts, "what the hell are you even talking about."

"Right," Sabo says, "I mean, please keep the brand in mind. I know there are methods to transform it, but I don't know if Luffy wants that and—just keep it in mind, I guess. If Luffy's under _your_ protection then—I don't think anyone will really try and..."

"Of course," Rayleigh says.

" _Sabo_ ," Ace says, more force in his voice—and of course, Ace isn't stupid, he's probably piecing who Sabo really is together just like that.

"I'm sorry," Sabo says.

"Sorry for _what?_ "

For the system still standing, for Ace being despised by the whole world. For benefiting from that very system. For not doing enough, for never doing enough. Whatever he does it's never _enough_ —

"For being deceptive," he settles on.

"You're a terrible liar," Ace says.

"I'm a great liar."

"Not to me."

"Okay," Sabo concedes, "maybe not to you."

A beat. Ace scowls at him. Sabo doesn't meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, shame hot on his skin, thick in his bones, itchy beneath his skin, like a constant ick beneath his skin, "for being a World Noble." And he closes his eyes, and doesn't look at Ace's expression, and he _knows_ what happened to the Donquixotes.

A beat.

The scrape of wood on the floor, of someone's stool clattering down, and then—then Ace punches him right in the face and onto the floor and pries his eyes from open and—

"You're a fucking idiot Sabo," Ace says, and Sabo's whole chest tightens, "don't you remember what I said to you?"

Sabo blinks. "What?"

"When I told you _my_ secret."

"Oh," Sabo says, but he's kind of blanking. The Gol D. Roger conversation? Probably.

"I _said_ ," Ace says, whole face is screwed up into something angry, or maybe something frustrated, "that I wouldn't care if your parents were monsters in human skin, and you said you didn't fucking care anything about someone besides who they themselves were, so what the hell are you doing acting like I'm going to fucking—"

"Have you heard about the Donquixote family?" Sabo asks, and then, "I'd kill me if I were you. If I thought I could get away with it."

"You what."

"I hate this," Sabo says, and his skin itches like a swarm of wasps. "I hate this. I don't do enough and it'll never be enough till the whole of Mary Geoise is _burning like Ohara_ and maybe even then it won't be enough and—"

"You're an idiot," Ace says.

"I'm not an idiot."

"You're an idiot," Ace says, like it's a decision, "you're an idiot but you're still my best friend."

"Oh," Sabo says, and he has to force out the words because there's a feeling in his throat like someone's just shoved a cannonball down it and his eyes are starting to string.

"Are you crying?"

"I'm not—" he chokes, has to stuff down a sob, "I'm not crying!"

"Sure you aren't," Ace says, dumb kind of expression, and Sabo socks him right in the face.

Somewhere above them, Shakky sighs. "I'll start on lunch. Ray? Help me with the stir fry, will you?"

"Sure," Rayleigh says.

"Sea King," Ace yells, "please!"

"Sea King," Luffy agrees, and laughs, and jumps right on top of both of them.

(This feels like home.)

-

Sabo slowly, but surely, bleeds down the number of sanctioned visits to Sabaody. Over the course of a year his visits go down from once a week to once every two weeks, then once a month, until they're sporadic and unpredictable and hardly happen at all. (When the Gorosei question him Sabo says that it's becoming less interesting, that he has more to do, that it doesn't really matter.)

Of course, in reality, Sabo sneaks out to Sabaody. Once every two weeks. He hates visiting less often, hates missing appointments with the revolutionaries and hates being away from everyone he's ever liked, but he needs to be careful.

Life continues, the world still spins, and information must be delivered.

Sabo sighs, closes his eyes, leans back on the bar's couch.

"Is there something wrong?" Dragon asks, and Sabo opens his eyes.

The Gorosei look at him like he's their legacy, the world only seems to get worse the more he finds out. Ohara and Flevance and Dressrosa and a million more. Dragon doesn't know who Sabo is, not for sure, and Sabo wonders what Dragon suspects he is. A marine officer's son? An agent-in-training himself? A World Noble? (He wonders if it would change anything, if Dragon did know.)

And there's no one on the Red Line Sabo doesn't want to gorge the eyes out of and he isn't doing enough. He'll never be doing enough until the whole of Mary Geoise is burning like Ohara and—

"Nothing's wrong," Sabo says, because it could be worse. It could be. He's living a better life than many could dream. "CP nine's going into full use. That test group's been deemed old enough. I don't _think_ they'll be in to much direct opposition to the revolution but I thought I should mention it regardless."

"Hmm," Dragon hums, eyes looking far into nothing at something Sabo can't see. "Right."

"I guess that's most of all from the last two weeks," Sabo says, sighing, just a little. "Then—"

The door slams open with a crack. Sabo whips his head around.

"Leader!" the girl says, black cloak setting, pressing the door closed behind her. "Ivankov sent me to tell you that Raspberry Bay is under siege!"

"Slow down," Dragon says, standing up to meet her as she runs over. "What happened?"

"Well," the girl starts, and glances at Sabo, and they stare at each other, just for a moment, and then—oh, _oh_.

She's got wide amber eyes and carrot-orange hair and smile lines on her cheeks that probably won't ever leave and he knows her. It's only been five years, and maybe the last time they met her hair was more ratty and her face more lifeless—but Sabo has spent whole nights thinking about that day, obsessing over every detail, every action. Because before Sabaody and before the revolution, that was the day he picked a side.

She opens her mouth, snaps it shut, opens it again. "You—"

Sabo jolts to his feet. "Wait!" he says, maybe a bit too loud, too abrasive, too commanding, and the girl's jaw snaps shut and her lips press thin and she looks terrified. "Sorry," he says, quieter, and sits back down. The girl says nothing. Sabo glances at Dragon. He's stone faced, but that hardly says anything; Dragon is always stone faced.

 _Do not be selfish_ , Sabo thinks, heart beating right out of his chest and into his throat, blood in his ears, bile on the back of his tongue. _Do not be selfish_.

"I'm sorry," he says, again, "I won't do anything. I know my word must not mean much to you but I won't. Do you still want to ask me something?"

She opens her mouth, closes it. "Why," she asks, voice quiet and a little scratchy, "did you help us that day?"

"It felt like the only right thing to do."

The girl's whole expression twists. "But you're—" she falters, "you're..."

"I know," Sabo says, "I am, and I can't change that, but I can at least try to _help_."

"But _why_."

Why? (It should be obvious, but of course it isn't. In a system this screwed up of course nothing is straightforward. Of course no one would think a World Noble would do something just because it is the right thing to do.) So where did it start? Where did it really start?

"I read a book," he says, truthfully. "It gave me sympathy. It made me question things. It made me human."

"...Okay," the girl says, after a long moment.

A beat.

Sabo thinks for a moment. Breathes in, breathes out. Sticks out his hand, his bare, ungloved hand. "I'm Sabo."

She takes a step back. Doesn't take his hand, but—"I'm Koala," she says, and at least that's a start.

There's a beat. And then another.

"Koala," Dragon says, "will you go back and join Ivankov? I'll be there shortly."

Koala hesitates a moment, nods, is quick to dash out and close the door behind her. Sabo and Dragon are alone again. Shakky left some hours ago, and Luffy and Ace are somewhere in the lawless zone, and Rayleigh—well.

"So," Dragon says, voice loud against the quiet.

Sabo shifts. "I guess you have some questions."

"Well," Dragon says, sitting back down across the table, "what do you want to tell me?"

_Do not be selfish._

"What do you want to know?"

Dragon looks at him for a long moment; eyes like stone or steel and just as unreadable. "You could start with who you are," he says.

Sabo thinks about that. Breathes in, breathes out. "Do you know how the Gorosei are selected?"

There are cockroaches beneath his skin, wasps in his ears, and when Dragon answers the tone is very, very careful. "No," he says, "not much, at least."

"Okay," Sabo says. "I guess form the beginning, then. First," he sticks up a finger, "be born a World Noble: this maintains ideological consistency, keeps the power inbred, and ensures the most incentive to keep the system."

"Right," Dragon says, tone neutral. Okay then.

"Second," Sabo says, and sticks up another finger, "intelligence. From ages one through ten World Nobles are screened for this. After that too much development will have happened for proper grooming to be implemented."

Sabo watches Dragon carefully. He is stone faced. It's kind of amazing, his ability to keep a poker face.

"Third," Sabo, "is the right kind of mindset; the right beliefs, values, and methods of thinking, This is instilled over a few decade period of all-round grooming. If a candidate demonstrates dangerous beliefs contrary to the intended ones late into preparation they will, most likely, be disposed of. As by then they'll have both World Noble status and in-depth knowledge of world workings."

"I see," Dragon says, "and where exactly do you fit into that?" Even though Sabo's pretty sure Dragon already knows.

Sabo sighs. "I'm thirteen now," he says, "I was picked up in screening nine years ago. I have another estimated almost two decades before the eldest of my predecessors dies and I replace him. As for why I'm here..." he trails off. "My behavior isn't historically unprecedented. A key component of candidate education is the understanding of the world. This naturally leads to many candidates wanting to explore beneath the Red Line...and so. Well."

"Then you have monitors," Dragon says, faint undertone of alarm.

"At the beginning? Yes. But..." Sabo smiles, maybe just a little sharp. "My visits have been becoming steadily less sanctioned. And please be assured, if they knew of me meeting with you I'd be gone by now."

"I see," Dragon says, slow and measured, "it must be difficult, keeping your entire conscious hidden."

"It isn't as difficult as it could be," Sabo says, "one of the key components of candidate education is the knowledge that all people are fundamentally equal and subsequent deeming of this as irrelevant."

"Hmm," Dragon says, and there's a twitch of his lips that's almost like a smile. "Well, that certainly worked well for them with you, didn't it?"

And Sabo—Sabo _laughs_. Because he's just bared his soul and Dragon is making jokes and there are still cockroaches beneath his skin but the tension is gone.

"Not at all," he agrees.

A beat.

Dragon sighs. "I have a question."

Sabo nods. "Go ahead."

The older pauses, almost hesitates. "Do you...almost three years ago it came to my attention that my son was captured and sold into slavery to World Nobles...I'm... just wondering if you have any clue what happened to him."

"Oh," Sabo says. "I can't guarantee anything, but I can try and remember, or look. How old is he—name?"

Dragon sighs, shoulders slumping, just a bit. "He'd be ten now. His name is Luffy."

All of Sabo's thoughts screech to a halt. "His name is what."

"Monkey D. Luffy—I thought he'd be safer with his Grandfather, but—"

"I know him."

Dragon shuts up.

"He would've died up in Mary Geoise but—" Sabo pauses. Thinks. "Maybe you should talk to him yourself. I—one moment." And he goes over behind the bar and rings Shakky's personal den-den mushi.

"Shakky? Can you—can you come back with Ace and Luffy, quick?"

"Sure," Shakky says from the other end. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Sabo says, shaking his head. "Just," he glances at Dragon, who's stone-faced and wide-eyed, "I found Luffy's dad."

-

Sabo Meets Monkey D. Garp only a month later.

He comes into Shakky's bar in a faded black suit, walking like a giant, or maybe a man on death's row. In his hand he cradles a straw hat. One thing is obvious, if nothing else; he isn't here for conflict.

The three of them are wrestling on the floor when Garp comes it. They all freeze when the door swings open. Luffy is the first one to recognize the man, followed shortly by Sabo, and then by Ace.

"Gramps!" Luffy shouts, voice high with delight. "I thought I wouldn't ever see you again! And that's...! My hat!"

(There is something wrong, or maybe something admirable, about the brazen way Luffy can state things like that.)

The boy squirms out from their pile, getting straight onto his feet and wrapping himself right around the marine hero. Sabo can hardly breathe. He should've expected this, really, of _course_ Dragon said something to Luffy's literal grandfather. But...but...but shit. That's the marine _hero_ , and Sabo's position is precarious at best. Ace hardly looks better than Sabo feels.

"Luffy," the man rumbles, arms tight around the boy, tears spilling out from his eyes—and suddenly Sabo feels like he's intruding.

They stay like that for a while. It's very awkward.

It's some hours later that Sabo and Garp finally speak.

"Thank you," Garp says. Plain and simple, and somehow Sabo wasn't expecting that.

"Sure," Sabo replies, shifting on his feet, and tries not to sound too nervous.

Garp sighs. "It was my son that informed me of this."

Sabo's heart lurches even though he'd already guessed so. (The marine hero knows that Sabo is associating with the revolution!) "Oh," Sabo says, "are you going to..."

"Report this?" Garp says, looking like he's aged a full few decades. Sighs. "No, no. No, you've saved my grandson and I..." Garp closes his eyes, opens them, breathes deep. "I think I want to help the cause."

-

Sabo meets Im when he turns fifteen.

Sabo's steps echo hard against the silence of Pangaea Castle. Below him spreads a floor of pearl-white marble, above him the walls extend so high that the ceiling disappears into darkness deeper than the night sky. The air is thick with unspoken secrets and ancient legacy. Beside him the Gorosei walk like a King's guard, or perhaps an execution squad; Sabo could be going to a celebration, could be going to the guillotine.

They stop outside a door that looks to be made for giants.

They swing it open and—and step into a room of flowers. It's a room so large that an ancient giant could lay straight across without touching either side. Climbing up the walls are vines and trees so old they border on petrified. The ground is a moss so green it looks like powdered emerald, and the whole place is brimming with flowers. There are buttercups so vibrant they look like drops of gold and pastel crocuses and royal purple orchids, and on their petals flit blue monarch butterflies. Everything is dappled in a light so thick it almost hurts his eyes, and the air smells like after-storm fragrance and old parchment.

But—but that isn't important, not really. The room is awe-inspiring in itself but there's a figure towards the center, with their front turned away. There's an ebony crown on their head, black as obsidian, with three points like spires. They're draped in black, in black so deep, so all-encompassing, that it swallows light itself. And when they turn around the fabric ripples like ink, and—

 _Oh_ , Sabo thinks, _oh_.

Because Sabo has seen this being before; in paintings, in old portraits, in carvings dated centuries ago. He's seen seen that black robe, that obsidian crown, those ringed eyes. This is Im, Sabo knows, Im who brought the twenty families together, Im who fell the ancient kingdom, Im who _died a martyr_ —

 _You're alive_ , Sabo wants to say, or maybe, perhaps more accurately, _you never died._

Sabo's eyes widen and his heart lunges right out into his throat, and it's at that moment, when he's still shaken down to the bone with shock and dread, that they lock eyes.

Im's eyes are deep reddish amber, the color of molten lava and dancing flames.

One half-beat, and then—

Then the air is kicked right out of Sabo's lungs, and his heart misses one beat, then two, and gravity doubles down on his shoulders. His clothes are all of a sudden too tight, too suffocating, too cold and too hot all at once, and his skin doesn't fit quite right, itches and burns, and his pulse is too strong, too weak, too loud in his ears. His heart rattles against the sides of his chest, and his whole stomach clenches, and if his bones hadn't seemed to have locked in place he's sure he would've collapsed by now.

 _This_ , Sabo realizes, vaguely, behind the blood in his ears and the sea of white noise, _is Conquerors Haki_.

But Sabo has felt Conqueror's Haki before. It isn't like this. It isn't the entire world bearing down on him from every side; he's an insect, a speck of dust—utterly insignificant before the strength of this being's will.

" ** _Kneel_** ," Im says, and it's not so much a command as a statement of fact; the sky is blue, water is wet, and Sabo kneels.

Sabo kneels. He does not decide to kneel. He does not think about kneeling. He just kneels.

This is the Haki, is the _will_ , of a being that has conquered and conquered and conquered until there's nothing left to take. It barely feels human. Sabo cannot breathe. His lungs won't work, won't take in breath. He is suffocating in his skin.

There is a faint scruff of shoes on grass.

"Look up," Im says, so Sabo does.

One knee pressed against the ground, Sabo looks up. Im is still looking at him. Sabo meets the gaze in everything but spirit.

"What do you live for?" Im asks, like they already know the answer, and of course they already know the answer.

"To serve," Sabo answers, and the worst thing is that he means it. The most terrifying thing is that he means it.

(He thinks he understands now, why no one of the Gorosei before him has tried to be down with the system; more than the greed, more than the selfishness, more than any of that it's _this_ , this being before him, this pinnacle of humanity, or perhaps of non-humanity. He thinks he understands now, why the Celestial Dragons were first called more than man.)

Im's lips tilt into something that might be a smile on anyone else, on any _thing_ else.

"Good," Im says, and the pressure lessons, only a bit, only enough for Sabo to breathe at all. "Live, then."

Im turns back around, robes rippling like ocean ink. Sabo does not stop kneeling.

 _What do you want of me_ , he almost says, or maybe, _what can I do for you?_ But his vocal cords aren't working, and the words don't sound quite right in his head because he doesn't _want_ that except—

Except he does. And Sabo knows exactly why they don't sound right. He's never wanted to serve, always hated it, but here, with his heart rattling right out of his chest and unfounded devotion kicking against his lungs, he _wants_.

"Leave," Im says, and so they do.

The instant they're out—(when did they leave?) Sabo's knees hit against the cold marble. And he isn't breathing quite right, too fast, or maybe too slow, too shallow, or maybe too deep. The whole world is spinning.

(The worst thing, Sabo thinks, vague and blurry, is that he is far too awed, too reverent, to be properly terrified, to be properly hateful.)

-

Shakky blinks.

"This isn't your normal time," she says, and Sabo jerks his head into what he's trying to make look like a normal nod.

"It isn't," he says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears. Too unsure, too toneless. "It isn't a normal visit, either."

Shakky must see something in his face because she just smiles lightly and nods. "Alright then," she says, leaning against the fridge. "What can I get you?"

Sabo pauses a moment, hesitates. "Ramen and warm sake," he finally decides, slipping onto the bar stool beside Rayleigh, "please."

Shakky quirks a brow. "Comfort food?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"Coming right up, then."

Sabo breathes in, breathes out, closes his eyes. But all he sees is ringed eyes like molten lava and fabric so dark it swallows light itself and—Sabo opens his eyes. Reminds himself to breathe.

It only takes a few minutes for the sake to heat. He thinks it's a few minutes, at least. Time has been kind of a blur in the last few days. The window lightens and darkens and the stars come and go and Sabo keeps blinking and skipping and drifting and—

The sake cup in warm and grounding on his skin. He curls his fingers around the clay but it's small and his fingers feel clumsy and his hands have started shaking again and—

"Careful," Rayleigh says, catching the cup before it clatters down to the floor.

A beat.

"Sorry," Sabo mutters, and doesn't take the cup back because his hands are still shaking and they haven't stopped shaking since he left that room days ago. He's barely been able to hold a pen, much less write with it.

"Don't worry about it!" Rayleigh laughs, then frowns, just a bit. "What's bothering you?"

Im.

Time's been a blur and when he sleeps it's Im and when he thinks it's Im. Sabo's tried reading to distract himself but he couldn't quite follow the words, has found himself thinking of Im's gaze on his skin, ringed eyes like molten lava and fabric so dark it swallows light itself. Of the will of a conqueror who's conquered and conquered and conquered until there's nothing left to take.

(Of devotion that he _knows_ is unfounded, is fraudulent, is unearned and dangerous, but hasn't left him. Of reverence that fills his lungs and chokes out hate. Of terror so deep, so bottomless, it crosses into awe.)

"I don't think you'd understand," Sabo says, maybe a little quiet. The only ones in the whole world that have met Im are the Gorosei and he won't talk to _them_ about it.

"Try me," Rayleigh says.

Sabo sighs, and slumps his shoulders. Bites his lips and _thinks_.

Then, after a long moment, "How did Roger's Conqueror's Haki feel?"

Rayleigh blinks, pulls his lips thin. Tilts his head, just a little, before smiling wide. "How did Roger's Haki feel, huh..." He leans back. Eyes looking at something Sabo can't see. "It felt like...a blanket."

"A blanket," Sabo repeats, trying not to let his voice sound too strange.

Rayleigh smiles, soft and small and genuine. "A warm, protective blanket. Like nothing in the world could touch you so long as Roger still stood. Like the ocean itself would part for him, because that will was the King's will. Or...at least that's how it was for us on crew. I imagine it must have been far more terrifying for those facing against him."

"I...see," Sabo mutters. "I—what about Whitebeard? You must have faced his Haki?"

Rayleigh hums. "Yes. Whitebeard's was....like a lion, I suppose. Being with a monarch of beasts, a giant of a man. The skies would split for him and the ground would shake, and there was a sense that there were few greater things in the world. Like he could speak a command and armies would follow. I'll admit, the first time I felt it I was a little in awe!"

"Oh," Sabo says, hesitates, chews on his cheek "Did it...stay? The feeling."

"A little. It did sometimes knock me off balance for a few seconds. The experience and memory certainly doesn't leave you, but the feeling? It disappears," Rayleigh says, small smile, "Why do you ask?"

A few _seconds_ , maybe minutes for people of weaker wills.

Sabo has been shaking for nearly a week.

"I've felt Conqueror's Haki twice," Sabo says, after a long moment.

Rayleigh arches a brow. "Oh?"

"First was for Haki training," Sabo explains, "Sengoku was brought in to demonstrate. It was..." was overwhelming at the time, like looking right at the sun. Like Sengoku was life and light and something to be respected and feared. It was the will-made-manifest of Fleet Admiral Sengoku, who crawled right out of a ditch and into the marines and then climbed the marines to the top. It was all encompassing, awe-inspiring, so warm it blurred into burn. It was—

"It wasn't what has you so shaken," Rayleigh says.

"No," Sabo admits, "It isn't. I...the second time was earlier this week and..." how can he describe that? His bones locking and his heart skipping beats and the air being stolen right out of his lungs. How Im's words were fundamental truth ( _kneel_ ), how Im barely felt human, how Im pushed reverence and devotion and terrible obedience right into Sabo's heart—how it hasn't quite left. "It was the will of a being that's conquered and conquered and conquered until there was nothing left to take."

Rayleigh is quiet for a moment. Looks pensive. Purses his lips, furrows his brows. "Who was it?"

Sabo chews on his cheek. Thinks. Opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, "Im," he eventually answers, and there's a stab through his chest like he's just betrayed something, even though he hasn't betrayed anything at all because he's never been on Im's side.

The expression freezes on Rayleigh's face. "Oh," he says. " _Oh_. Then—what we read on Laugh Tale's true?"

Sabo sighs. "Probably. That depends."

"It said that Im underwent the Immortality Operation."

"Yeah," Sabo says, "that's...yeah. I imagine that's what happened. Probably. Shit—Ray, Ray I didn't know that Im was still alive until this week. Ray I—" his heart's beating too fast, pulse too strong, breathing too much and too shallow and— "I haven't stopped shaking. Im placed this unfounded reverence right into my chest and I can't get it _out_ , I can't hate them or condemn them or even want to do anything but their wish! I want to give Im the world on a silver platter and—and I _know_ that isn't right and I'm not going to stop supporting the revolutionaries, I won't, but—!"

"Breathe," Shakky says, voice smooth as she places the ramen down in front of him. "Don't worry about it too much."

Sabo looks at the food. Breathes in, breathes out.

"But I _can't_. I—Im said kneel and I just _did_ , I didn't even think about it, hardly even realized it. And they asked me what I lived for and I said to serve and I _meant_ it."

Shakky nods. "Well, then. Do you mean it now?"

"Well...no, but—"

"What she said," Rayleigh says, "Don't worry to much. You know what's right and what's wrong. You know where you want to stand."

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. Closes his eyes, opens them. And there Shakky and Rayleigh are, and Sabo's never really had parents—(World Nobles don't make good parents. Not most of them, at least. Children take to much _effort_ to care for)—but he thinks it might feel something like this.

"Okay," Sabo says, and breathes in the aroma of fresh made ramen and warmed up sake, "alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how excited I was when I realized that I'd get to write scenes with Im-sama. Or, on that note, how much I flipped between Im and Imu. I personally prefer Im, but Imu is more correct, I think... Also. As a general rule, I don't use honorifics when I write, because I don't think I'd do it correctly, and I don't write well with them...but I was so darn tempted to use them in this. Something feels missing when you just say Im not Im-sama, y'know? And Dragon-san, for that matter.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed, constructive criticism is welcome, I enjoy feedback, and don't be shy!


	3. Prioritize

"So," Sabo says, and leans back against the trunk of a Sabaody tree with an easy smile on his face. Like Ace isn't seventeen. Like Ace isn't leaving for Baterilla in a matter of minutes to begin his voyage as a pirate. "Have you chosen yet?"

Ace grimaces. He's always been terrible with hiding his emotions, always so open. Sabo almost envies it. "Does it really matter?"

Sabo raises an eyebrow. "Ace."

Ace shifts his footing on the deck of Rayleigh's small sailing boat. Sabo doesn't move at all in his position on the archipelago's watery edge. Luffy looks at Ace, looks at Sabo, looks back at Ace—looks like he's thinking too hard.

Luffy tilts his head, stepping forward, just a bit, and Sabo has to pull him back by the collar so that he doesn't accidentally slip right into the sea. "Is this the name thing?" Luffy asks, terribly curious, and Ace flinches hard.

"No it's not," Ace says, "what name thing?"

"Yes it is," Sabo immediately says, and levels Ace an unimpressed look. "So? Ace? Portgas or Gol?"

Ace steps back, looking unbalanced, but not from the sailboat's rocking. "Look," Ace says, then closes his mouth. Opens it, closes it. "Look."

A beat. The breeze brushes hairs against Sabo's cheeks. He resists the urge to tuck them back. The ground squelches beneath his boots. Reaches out with his Haki, feels Shakky behind him and Rayleigh on the sailboat's railing and Luffy beside him and Ace across from him. He breathes in, breathes out—salt and soap and the vast open ocean.

"I don't know," Ace says, finally. "Does it really matter?"

Sabo sighs. Doesn't pinch the bridge of his nose. "Not at all."

Ace puffs up like a flame. "Why do you care then!?"

"It matters to you," Sabo says, "So it does kind of matter to me, doesn't it? Because you're one of the idiots I chose as a brother."

Ace goes red up to his ears. "Shut up. That's a stupid reason."

"Uhhuh," Sabo says, "and—"

"Huh," Luffy says, and looks between them like he's just realized some baffling truth, or maybe like he's just decided something fundamental, "you're both idiots."

Ace snaps his head around so fast that Sabo's almost worried he's pulled a muscle. Then the words register and he _also_ snaps his head around.

"Excuse me?" He asks, at the same time that Ace says, "You what."

Luffy grins. "You're both idiots!" he says, like he's decided it.

Shakky snickers. Sabo shoots her an indignant glare. She smirks at him— _smirks!_ The traitor. "You know," she says, "I think little Lu might have a point."

Ace looks at her with a face full of betrayal.

Luffy just looks proud. "See! Shakky agrees with me!"

"This is stupid," Sabo says, maybe a little huffy. It's a tiny sting on his dignity to be called stupid by Luffy.

"Yeah," Luffy agrees, smiling bright, "it is! Ace's last name doesn't really matter at all y'know."

Ace puffs up even larger. "Does _too!_ It's more complicated than that! I—It's not like I'm ashamed of my dad but. But carrying his name is... And my mom too! It's not like I like her any more, but Luffy—" Ace stops, squints his eyes, and Sabo very pointedly _doesn't_ laugh. " _Luffy!_ "

Luffy continues picking his nose. "What?"

"Do you even know what I just said!?"

"Nope!" Luffy cheerfully answers. "It doesn't matter! You don't need a last name. You're just Ace. Just like Sabo's just Sabo and I'm just Luffy. Nothing else matters at sea, don't you know that?"

Luffy says it like it just _is_ , like it's fact, like it's fundamental truth. Sabo breathes in, and out, slow and measured and careful. There are times, precious moments, where Sabo looks at Luffy and thinks he's a lot like Im. Not in the terrible ways, not in the ways that Luffy could never be. But in the way he speaks sometimes, the way he stands, with a confidence unrivaled, certain as the rising sun.

(Luffy says he'll be the freest person in all the seas. Says he'll be the Pirate King. And Sabo—Sabo _believes_ him.)

Ace deflates.

"Okay," he says, and smiles, "okay maybe you have a point."

"Obviously," Luffy says.

Rayleigh chuckles form the railing. "It's true..." he perks his head a little, glances at the sky, "the tide's coming and the wind's changing," he says, "we need to go in a few minutes."

Sabo's heart pinches. He doesn't let it show on his face. "I guess I'll see you soon."

Ace grins, nods. "Of course! I'll be back at Sabaody before you know it! Which, by the way," he looks at Rayleigh, "I still think I should start here."

Rayleigh snickers. "Rouge would punch me in the afterlife her precious baby go into the big wide New World as a newborn greenhorn."

"Am _not_ ," Ace says, and Sabo raises an eyebrow at that. Ace scowls at him. "Fine," he says, " _fine_. But why do I have to start in the _blues?_ "

"Luffy's starting in East Blue," Shakky reminds him, "this is just fair."

"Luffy's weaker!"

Sabo sighs. Glances at the sky. Feels the breeze twist to something stronger. Time is running out. "Ace," he says, and tries not to let his voice sound to unsteady, too pained. "You won't forget to write? I'll write you a letter whenever I can—don't go shooting small black birds, yeah?"

"Obviously," Ace grins, glancing at the sky and the ocean and then back to Sabo. "Of course I will! I won't forget you, y'know?"

Sabo grins, "That's doubtless! How could you ever forget me, I'm not that weak a presence! Why, I'm offended at the very thought!"

Ace holds his gaze a moment longer. A moment too long. "Good," he finally says. "Well." The sun shines bright behind him, gold and red and pink on the water, spilling color all over the morning sky. "I guess I'm going now."

"Yeah," Sabo says, and tries not to sound too choked, too longing, "May the wind bring fortune to your sails!"

"See you!" Luffy calls, and when Sabo glances over there are big fat tears pouring down all over his face. "Good luck!"

The sails pick up. Catch the wind. Shakky exhales a breath of smoke, waves. "Have fun," she says, lazy kind of smile. Rayleigh smiles right back.

"See you!" Ace calls, and the wind presses into a gale in a matter of half-seconds because this is the Grand Line and the weather doesn't wait for goodbyes. The waves crash. The ship is off.

 _Fuck_ , Sabo finally thinks, _he's gone_.

"I want to follow him," Luffy says, and Sabo thinks of Luffy saying the sea is free, that nothing matters there, and—

"Two more years," Shakky reminds Luffy.

Two more years for Luffy, but for Sabo..? He—well. Sabo has things to do, information to sneak and lies to tell. He will not be selfish.

( _It doesn't matter_ , Luffy had said. _You don't need a last name. You're just Ace. Just like Sabo's just Sabo and I'm just Luffy. Nothing else matters at sea, don't you know that?_

Sabo knows that. The _problem_ is that Sabo knows that. The problem is that he thinks of the ocean in every direction, far as the eye can see. With the deck rocking below him and the sky full of little wispy clouds. Light breeze and the scent of salt. People calling him Sabo and just Sabo. Clothes that are soft, but only a little bit. The wide, open ocean.

The problem is that Sabo thinks of this and _wants_.)

-

Sabo blinks. "Someone destroyed a whole five marine battleships?"

The elder sighs. "Yes. Fire Fist only just entered the Grand Line yet he's sewing chaos already."

He hums, shifts a bit, puts down his pen. "Fire Fist?"

"He's a super Rookie—here," another Gorosei member says, and there's a shuffling of papers and a fresh-printed bounty poster is passed to Sabo's grip and—oh. _Oh_. That's Ace. With the wind blowing his hair to the side and the sea behind him and flames dancing circles on his skin. That's Ace—just Ace. Not Portgas or Gol and isn't _that_ just magnificent? That Ace took their words to heart. Maybe he's even thinking of them.

"Oh," Sabo says, and snuffs out any warmth in his chest, any pride—(A bounty of 150,000,000 already!)—because he can't show that, not here. "Hmm. Even for the loss of a few warships, isn't that a high starting bounty...?"

They exchange glances. "He's proficient In Haki."

"Ah," Sabo says, "I see." And leaves it at that.

Leaves it at that.

Bites his cheek until he tastes iron and excuses himself early, but only a little. Listens to the eerie silence of Mary Geoise on a peaceful day, and the click-click-click of his heels on the marble. Breathes in, breathes out. Soap and lavender and just a hint of fresh blood. He wonders, briefly, who was killed here (beaten? Whipped? Does it make any difference?)

Wonders where exactly Ace is. What he's doing. What Sabo would be doing if he was with him.

The air is stiffing, suffocating. Sabo doesn't let himself complain.

-

Sabo goes down from Mary Geoise more, these days. But not to Sabaody. No no no, he goes to kingdoms and countries and meets with leaders and marines. This, also, is to prepare him for the eventual mantle of being a Gorosei member.

He leans over the balcony of his ridiculously sized ship, sometimes. Looking out to the ocean and breathing in the scent of salt and seaweed and a million things that hide themselves beneath the waves, beyond the horizon.

He writes and reads and reports.

Writes and reads and reports.

(Sometimes gets letters from Ace. Sometimes doesn't.)

He savors his time on Sabaody like never before. Even if Ace isn't there—well. Luffy is, Shakky is, Rayleigh is, sometimes Dragon is. Sometimes Koala is.

It's...a little depressing. But. Well. That hardly matters, does it?

-

Koala is looking at him uncertainly, almost frowning. The paper she's holding crinkles. She opens her mouth, closes it.

A beat.

"Is there something you want to say?" Sabo finally asks—careful with his words, with his tone. He always is, around Koala. She's strong, of course she is, she's one of the strongest people Sabo knows—but she's never asked him to stop and Sabo's never forgotten how much she trembled when they first met.

Another beat. Near-silence in the bar. Koala purses her lips, looks to the side, looks back at him, straightening her posture. "Is something wrong?"

That catches Sabo a little off guard. "Wrong?" He shakes his head. "No no no, nothing at all! Wherever could you have gotten that idea? Actually, no, don't answer that."

Koala squints her eyes a little. "...Right," she says, and it's a little sarcastic, "Ace disappeared in Whitebeard's territory, didn't he? Is that it?"

It's a measure of how far they've come, that she continues the subject at all.

"No," Sabo lies.

"Oh," Koala says. "Well. Whitebeard is famously forgiving and well-tempered."

"I know," Sabo responds. And he does know, he _does_ , but—

"Huh," Koala says, shifts on her feet and looks to the side. "...I'm here." She says, and then, "I'll continue to be here."

She—oh. He...wasn't expecting that.

Sabo's chest warms, if only a little. "Okay," he says, and cracks a smile, "thanks."

Koala smiles back.

-

Ace reappears a Whitebeard.

Sabo—Sabo didn't expect that. Sabo didn't expect that at all.

Ace's letters come less frequently.

Sabo thinks about blue water and open air and his brothers beside him and aches.

-

Luffy leaves with the dawn behind him and a smile on his face that's bright as the sun. He starts in East Blue, on Dawn island.

Sabo sees his bounty poster a few weeks later—Straw hat Luffy, starting bounty of thirty million. Once again, Sabo pushes down the pride and the warmth and buries it under lies. ( _D, huh? That could be dangerous. We'll keep an eye on this one_.)

Luffy doesn't send any letters at all. Sabo expected this. It doesn't mean the ache in his chest hurts any less.

-

The air on Mary Geoise is stiffing. Too thick, too thin, too much blood, too little dirt. He can barely breathe.

-

He keeps working—delivering information, smuggling slaves, doing all he can. (Not enough. Never enough. It won't be enough until Mary Geoise is burning like Ohara—)

-

Sabo finds out quickly of Ace's capture. Long before it's published in the newspaper.

He can't _breathe_ —

-

Sabo snaps a book shut. Drums his fingers on the wood of his desk. Bites his lip.

Ace is captured and Sabo can't breathe.

Ace is captured and Sabo doesn't know what to do.

He can't get involved. Not directly. Or—he can. There are a lot of things he _can_ do. But he won't. Ace is his brother and there are a lot of things Sabo can do to save him, but he _won't_ do those things. He wants to. He won't.

Sabo won't be selfish.

He bites right through his lip. It tastes like iron.

Doing anything to blatant, too conspicuous...that's out. Even if Ace dies because of Sabo's inaction...then. Then he does. Above all, Sabo's position can't be compromised. Not now, not when the world's balance is looking to fall off a cliff. Now more than ever, the revolution needs his support.

But—

But at the same time, Sabo can't just do nothing. He can't just do _nothing_. That's his brother who took his hand and accepted his linage, who wrestled him right to the ground and let him taste _life_.

So...Sabo picks up a pen, breathes in, breathes out, and starts writing.

-

Koala breaks her sentence mid-word. They're in Shakky's bar, talking revolutionary things—and then behind them comes the swing of a door opening.

Sabo blinks, shifts to face the entrance. There's an octopus fishman at the door, with coral coloring that looks vaguely familiar—(someone Shakky knows? Maybe Sabo saw him around the bar?) And behind the fishman—

"Hachi!" Koala bursts, looking startled.

The fisherman blinks. "Is that...little Koala!?"

Shakky's head perks up. "Oh...Hatchan! it's been...a decade now? Welcome back!" Shakky greets, wide smile, pausing from extorting a couple of criminals. "You and Koala know each other?"

Hachi and Koala and Shakky talk a little among themselves. Sabo isn't really paying attention to that because stumbling into the bar is _Luffy's crew_. Luffy himself. And Sabo's whole heart is swelling up in his chest because it's been months and months since he's seen Luffy and almost two years since he's seen Ace and Sabo _aches_.

Luffy's eyes are quick to settle on Sabo. A grin bright as the sun lights up his face. "Sabo!" He exclaims, running over to Sabo.

Luffy hits like a battering ram, slamming right into Sabo's chest. Knocking the breath right out of his lungs. He's...missed this. Missed it a lot. "...Luffy," Sabo says, finally, maybe a little soft. It'll only be a matter of days until Ace's capture is published, and when Luffy hears _that_... "How's the pirate life?"

Luffy steps back, grins even wider. "It's awesome! Have you seen my crew? Some of them are outside but," he makes some haphazard gestures to the crew members that accompanied him in, "see!"

Sabo chuckles a little. "Of course. Those three are...Chopper, Nico Robin, and..." he's not actually sure about the living skeleton. (What has Luffy been _up_ to? A _living skeleton?_ That's surely one of the strangest things on the whole Grand Line.) "I'm not actually entirely sure of the third! A recent addition?"

Luffy nods, "Uhhuh! That's Brook! He's my musician!" And then he makes a beeline for the fridge.

"I see," Sabo says, standing up and tipping his hat to them. Careful with his expression—smile friendly, but polite. "It's lovely to meet you! Luffy seems to have gathered quite an amazing crew, hmm?"

Nico Robin meets his gaze, eyes sharp, a little narrowed, before her expression relaxes just enough to avoid seeming hostile and she says, "Please, you flatter. You know our captain?"

Sabo takes her blatant questioning with grace. "Yes. I've known him for...around a decade now? I suppose."

She hums. "You aren't a pirate, then?"

He shakes his head, laughs a little. "Not at all. No...my place in the world is different."

Robin tilts her head. There's a tension to her frame. He isn't surprised, not really, she _is_ a well-informed person. It isn't hard to spot how unmarred his skin is, and while there may be no photos of him, his name is public, if not well-known, information. "Different?"

"I'm a Revolutionary," he says, and Robin's eyes widen, shock showing clear through her mask. "A bit hard to be a pirate when you're busy with smuggling slaves and passing of information, yeah?"

"Oh," Robin says, after a long, long moment, "I see."

Sabo just smiles.

They're a happy crew, Sabo thinks, even if he hasn't seen the rest of Luffy's members, they're a great crew. Luffy is happy with them. They're happy with him.

It kind of hurts to watch. Not just because Sabo can't be there, can't be with them on their journey. But...because Sabo knows that lighthearted atmosphere is going to dive off a cliff once Ace's execution is announced. Because he _knows_ Luffy is going to do something stupid and reckless and maybe even deadly.

And it's Sabo's job to stop that in it's tracks. Luffy is his younger brother, after all.

"Hey," he speaks, a little quiet but no less commanding, "Luffy. Before you leave—a word of warning, and of advice."

Luffy cocks his head to the side, looking completely confused. "Huh?"

Sabo sighs. "...In a few days, something will come out in the newspaper. When you hear it...Luffy, _please_ don't do anything reckless. _Think_. You're best bet will be to join in with the Whitebeards—here," he takes out a slip of paper, scrawls down a number, "this is the second division's den-den mushi number. Just...don't be reckless."

Luffy blinks. "Oh," he says, snatching the slip of paper out of his hand, briefly looking at it, deeming it boring, and giving it to Robin, "okay! Maybe!"

Sabo figures that's the best he's going to get.

 _At least_ , he thinks, glancing at Robin, _his crew should provide council_.

-

"So..." Marco the Phoenix—(one of the most dangerous pirates in the whole world, Ace's _family_ )—says, eyes sharp, "you're the bird letter guy."

Sabo smiles polity, dips his head, gestures for the pirate to seat himself at Shakky's bar. "Yes," Sabo says, and doesn't let his voice sound uncertain. It took too much effort to put this meeting into place for it to fall apart now. "I guess Ace didn't ever say my name?"

"He didn't," Marco says, pausing a moment before slipping onto a bar stool. "Do you want to give it?"

Sabo hums. Doesn't drum his fingers on the bartop or fiddle with his curls, even if he wants to. "Depends. Do you trust me without it?"

A beat.

Shakky slides them both a cup. It makes a scraping sound over the wood.

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. Calm and measured.

"Well," Marco says, meeting his eyes, "'guess I do."

That's good. That's great. Almost better than expected. Sabo's smiles, again, maybe just a little bit looser. "Wonderful. You've probably already guessed this is about Ace. So I should probably just be quick with this, yeah?"

"...Sure," Marco says.

Sabo pulls the pages out of his coat pocket. Carefully offers it. Marco eyes it for a half-beat before taking it. The pirate's eyes are narrow, evaluating. Makes sense—Marco _is_ the Whitebeard Pirate's First Division Commander, it wouldn't make sense if he wasn't the least bit cautious.

Marco flips a page. Then another. And another.

The silence is a little overbearing.

Finally, Marco puts the folder down. He looks at Sabo, face a stonewall. Unreadable, indecipherable.

"These are..." Marco trails off, glances back at the folder, back at Sabo.

"Impel Down blueprints, complete with guard rotations, schedules, and profiles of all major wardens," Sabo says, almost challenging. Because he it's obvious that the Whitebeards are planning to attack Marineford itself, on the day of the execution. When the whole of the marines will have assembled and organized and fortified. When the Pacifista will be put into play. He knows this, and he thinks it's _stupid_.

"You think we should attack Impel Down," Marco states, not a question, voice flat.

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. Pushes down anger, pushes down nervousness. "Have you looked in the folder's last few pages?"

"No," Marco says, "I just flipped through everything."

"The last bit is..." Sabo trails off. "Pacifista plans. Blueprints and ability analysis."

Marco frowns, just a bit. "Pacifista?"

"A new Government weapon. A mass-producible robot built on the base of Warlord Bartholomew Kuma, augmented with Admiral Kizaru's Pika Pika no Mi, and brought together with Vegapunk's genius." Sabo takes some small satisfaction in seeing Marco's eyes widen. "They're planned to debut on a mass scale in the upcoming war."

Marco's brows furrow up. "Yes," the pirate says, "but—"

"Quite frankly," Sabo interrupts, and now there's a dangerous edge to his voice, something viscous that he's tried _hard_ to bury, "I think a confrontation at Marineford could swing victory in either direction. And I think he odds of Ace dying somehow or another are dangerously high. And, especially considering I can't fight in the war myself, I don't want to wager Ace's life on a battle at _Marineford_."

A beat.

The silence now is tense. A powder keg—a timed bomb. Marco's gaze is more of a glare, and Sabo doesn't back down.

"Really?" Marco asks, tone a little frosty, "And why can't you fight yourself?"

"Really," Sabo bites, baring his teeth, just a little, "I can't fight because Ace isn't where my responsibility lies. I'm a revolutionary first and foremost and I'll never compromise that—but _you?_ " Sabo says, and tries not to sound too venomous, too bitter, too envious. " _You?_ You're his crew, his family, you decided to take him as your own, didn't you? He's under your care."

There's another long, long beat. The silence stretches and stretches and stretches, and Marco remains still and unreadable. The air is buzzing with something silent and dangerous, and Sabo's skin crawls with anticipation, with a dread deep as the ocean itself. Then, finally—the silence snaps.

"All right," Marco says, "we'll take care of him."

-

"Shit," the elder says, and Sabo's heart skips a beat. Members of the Gorosei don't swear. They just don't. It is _undignified_ and _in-eloquent_ and _unprofessional_. So why..? It must have to do with Ace, that's the most pressing, most important matter in world politics—so if the Gorosei are frustrated about it then—

"Did something happen?" Sabo asks, carefully, cautiously, and doesn't let hope drip into his voice.

The elder just tosses him a thick stack of paper. A report, he thinks. "Thanks," Sabo says, and brings the paper right up to his face. The handwriting looks angry, a little jagged, but professional and eligible nonetheless, and—oh.

_July 8th, Impel Down._

_Written by (Former) Chief Warden Magellan._

_Reviewed by standing Fleet Admiral Sengoku._

Oh, Sabo thinks, rising delight, _oh_. This might just be exactly what he's hoping it is. He skims the words—is drunk on them, giddy with them. Because—

 _In sum_ , starts the last-page , _6am, July 8th, Whitebeard Pirates (divisions 1-16 and allies, notably Strawhat Pirates,) surround Impel Down. 6am-5pm, Pirates Invade to lower levels. Majority of prisoners freed. 5:11pm, Fire Fist Ace makes above-ground appearance. 5:30pm. Whitebeard uses Gura Gura no Mi and crumbles Impel Down right into the sea._

There's a splotch of ink on the last word. Like the pen broke.

Sabo wants to laugh, wants to cry. There are wasps beneath his skin and bees in his ears and his heart is rising right out of his chest and close to bursting with elation. He could choke on this giddiness, this victory, could down in this relief. He wants to dance, can barely sit still, wants to scream and yell and say _look at this! Looks at this! My brother isn't dead!_ But.

Well.

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. Closes his eyes, opens them. Frowns, just a bit. Knits his brows together like this is something worrying, something terrible, like it's a tragedy not a blessing, and says, "Oh dear—what's our PR plan?"

-

It' a full week before Sabo can step out of Mary Geoise. There's too much work to be done, too many PR campaigns to plan and resources to reassign and at this point Sabo is less a Gorosei candidate and more a part-time member.

So, Sabaody is relief.

Sabo breathes in, breathes out. It smells like salt and soap and gunpowder. Tastes like ocean, like seaweed and old wood. The sun is a cracked egg on the horizon, spilling golden yolk across the sky and coloring the water shades of pink. It is dusk beneath the archipelago's canopy, and in the cracks between the leaves the sky is brilliant lavender.

Sabo presses in the Door the Shakky's bar. He's sure his brothers will be there, be waiting for him.

They are.

"Sabo!" Luffy immediately calls launching himself right off the bar and around Sabo.

"Hey Luffy," Sabo says, voice soft and fond, and he loves Luffy, he _does_ , but Luffy isn't the one that almost go executed. "...Ace," Sabo says, locking his eyes on Ace's form sat somewhat awkwardly at the bar.

"Sabo," Ace says, "Marco told me you gave him Impel Down files."

"I did," Sabo says, shifting on his feet, and Luffy rockets himself right back to the ridiculously proportioned platters of meat laid over the counter. "I wanted to do more."

Ace narrows his eyes at him, swings off the stool and onto his feet, and knocks Sabo right in the head. "Idiot," Ace says, fitting his chin into the crook of Sabo's neck and wrapping his arms around him. "You did enough."

Sabo thins his lips, opens his mouth, closes it. Wraps his arms around Ace and clutches like a lifeline. "I don't know what I'd've done if you died and I wasn't there."

"But I didn't die," Ace says.

Ace didn't die, but Sabo spent weeks thinking of all the ways he could've. Ace didn't die, but Sabo only found that out through a goddamn marine report. Ace didn't die, but he could've, and Sabo wasn't there.

"I didn't die," Ace says, again.

Ace didn't die, and he's here now. And he's pressed warm against Sabo's skin. Sabo can feel his pulse and heart his voice and—

Ace didn't die.

"Yeah," Sabo says, and his voice is maybe a bit choked, and he can't see quite right, vision a little blurry, but—well. that's alright. These are his brothers and Sabo can cry. Sabo can laugh and dance and scream and wail and—oh, oh. He is.

Luffy quick to snap himself around both of them and the hug is a little tight, a little suffocating, but not like Mary Geoise. Not in a way he hates.

Behind them, the door creaks open.

"Oh," sighs Shakky, "boys. Sabo, you're back! Is there anything you'd like?"

"Ramen," Sabo immediately answers, wriggling his way out of Ace's semi-chokehold and ducking beneath Luffy's arms. He tips his hat. "and yes, I'm back."

Shakky hums. "Alright. You three sit down, if you decide to play then do it outside."

Sabo beams. "Of course!"

So that's what they do. Go outside, play. Wrestle each other to the ground like nothing else is the world matters. Shakky calls them for breakfast and Luffy pauses for just one moment and then shoots off to the bar like a bullet. But Sabo is still pinned down on the wet moss and isn't trying to fight Ace's hold, not really.

See, the moss below him is soft, and his lungs are run ragged, and his blood is coursing strong in his veins. His body temperature is high and he's breathing hard and there's a grin stretching wide across his face. Above him Sabaody's canopy rustles and shifts, parts dark as night, and others green as emerald. Through the cracks in the canopy Sabo can see the sky is a deep amber, and...well.

Well.

Sabo is content.

Ace sighs, apparently giving up now that Sabo's got no fight, and thumps down on the moss beside him.

"What are you looking at?"

"The sky," Sabo answers.

"Oh," Ace says. Pauses. Shifts. A bubble pops. "When will you come out to sea?"

And, oh. Sabo doesn't want this conversation at all. It's not a new one, it's a long standing topic. "Ace," Sabo sighs, looking up at the cracks between the leaves and breathing in the scent of the ocean, "you know I can't."

"That's bullshit."

"Things to do."

"For other people?" Ace asks, probably rhetorical. "Being a pirate's all about being selfish."

"I'm not selfish," Sabo says, maybe a little tense.

"Yeah," Ace agrees, "that's the problem."

Sabo sighs. Ace sighs right back. Sabo sighs louder. Ace snickers.

"Shut up," Sabo says, and keeps looking at the cracks in the canopy. The amber sky is fading into light pink. "I'll go eventually."

Sabo can't see Ace's face, but he can imagine clearly the frustration that must be twisting on Ace's face. "But _when_."

When indeed. Sabo's never had an answer for that, not really. When will Sabo stop being necessary? The future's always been too foggy, too unclear, too unpredictable. Will it take another few months or another few decades? Will this kingdom help them? Will they have the resources? Will the marines be like this or that or—

But.

But that was then, not now, and now Impel Down has crumbled into the sea and new pirates are rocking the waves, and the army has secured seastone and weapons and whole kingdoms. Now, the marine reputation is is tatters and Sabo is more useful than ever.

Now, the reverie is coming up in just over two years, and the Revolution is almost ready to begin in full.

Once the World Nobles are toppled, once the Gorosei are dethroned, once Im is brought down ( _blasphemy!_ ), once all that is done and the world order is rebuilt and steadied, once everything Sabo and _only_ Sabo can do is done—then...

Then.

Then there will be the open sky and the all-encompassing ocean. Then there will be wind in his hair, against his skin, and salt in his clothes. Then he'll stand on the deck of a ship and feel it rock below him. Then he'll go anywhere he wants and do anything he wants, and he won't do it as a World Noble, won't do it off the backs of a thousand faceless victims, it'll be him. He'll be Sabo, just Sabo.

And that's—

Wonderful, alluring, palpable, _soon_.

"Four—maybe five years," Sabo answers, and he's waited fifteen years, he can wait five more.

A beat.

"Okay," Ace finally says. "We'll wait."

Sabo smiles, wide bright and honest, thinks of endless sky and all-encompassing ocean and wind against his skin, and says, "I'll be there soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than anything, this was originally intended as just a cool AU, so I'm not entirely sure how that translated to actual writing. With like, a narrative. Honestly even when I was done with my outline and had started writing the damn thing I wasn't sure how I wanted to end it so. I hope it didn't come off awkward, is what I'm trying to say.
> 
> Now, you might've noticed, this has been added as the first part to a series. Yes. I do have some ideas on continuing this/oneshots in this au. I'm not sure when I'll write them (I have much else to write--another installment of my jojo-op crossover, Yamato&Kaido relationship study, ect.) so. anyhow.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please don't hesitate to leave a comment! :) Constructive criticism is welcome, and I always enjoy feedback! Don't be shy! <3


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